ON THE DEATH OF VISCOUNTESS TOWNSHEND. 273

you to bear up against such a stroke. It is an excellent sign that after the cares and labours of the day you can return to your pious exercises and meditations with undiminished attention. This will be a good criterion by which to judge of your state.-Letter from Hannah More to Lady Waldegrave.

ON THE DEATH OF VISCOUNTESS TOWNSHEND.

WITH downeast look and pitying eye,
Unarm'd the King of Terrors stood;
He laid his sting and horrors by,
Averse to strike the fair and good:
When thus an angel urged the blow-
'No more thy lifted hand suspend!
To conscious guilt a dreaded foe,

To innocence a welcome friend.

'Bright hosts of cherubs round her stand,
To her and me confess'd alone;
Each waving his celestial hand,

And pointing to th' eternal throne.'

The angel spoke-nor husband dear,
Nor children loved, (a mournful train,)
Could from her eye attract one tear,
Nor bend one thought to earth again.

The soul, impatient of delay,

No more could mortal fetters bind;
But, springing to the realms of day,
Leaves every human care behind.
Yet, oh! an infant daughter's claim
Demands from heaven thy guardian care;
Protect that lovely, helpless frame!

And guard that breast you form'd so fair!

A parent's loss, unknown, unwept,
Thoughtless the fatal hour she pass'd;
Or only thought her mother slept,

Nor knew how long that sleep must last.

When time th' unfolding mind displays,
May she, by thy example led,
Fly from that motley, giddy maze
Which youth, and guilt, and folly tread,

These never knew the guiding hand
Which leads to virtue's arduous way:
Mothers now join the vagrant band,
And teach their children how to stray.

Her shall the pious task engage

(Such once was thine), with lenient aid, A father's sorrows to assuage,

His love with equal love repaid.

So shall she read with ardent eye

This lesson thy last moments give,'They who, like thee, would fearless die,' Spotless, like thee, must learn to live.' EARL NUGENT.

ACCOUNT OF THE DEATH OF MRS. SARAH MORE, SISTER OF THE CELEBRATED MRS. H. MORE.

In the spring of 1817, by the death of Mrs. Sarah More, the eldest of the then surviving sistersthe family was again stricken. A companion was taken from them whose lively sallies of original wit had often made sorrow smile, and pain forget itself. But it was the lot of this intelligent, virtuous, and entertaining person to linger long in an extremity of suffering rarely surpassed. Her viva

city combated long with her pains, but her victory over them was the reward of her patient hope in her Redeemer, her disclaimer of all self-righteous grounds of consolation, and her humble trust in the purchased pardon of her God. Her bed of death was the scene of awful edification,-the voice of ecstasy mingling with the cry of anguish -the flesh dissolving in pain, and the spirit departing in peace. She had, indeed, an earthly stay in Hannah, who let none of the supports or pledges of Scripture-testimony be wanting to her dying sister, while hers was the hand to do all that could be done by human help to mitigate the last crisis.

The Christian magnanimity by which the departure of this valuable person was distinguished, has been recorded by a friend who was constantly in her chamber during her last sickness. The particulars are very affecting, and will interest a large proportion of the readers of this work. It is an episode, however, which those who turn aside from scenes of patient suffering may easily pass over, though it is but honest to tell them that the more they strive to put away these thoughts to a more convenient season, the more terrific will be the form in which, in the end, they will be sure to present themselves.

"The last hours of our dear friend Mrs. S. More, afforded so wonderful a manifestation of the mercy and faithfulness of God, and of the efficacy of the Holy Spirit, that I have felt it a solemn duty to set down as many of the particulars (too many have escaped) as I can recollect, both for my own edification, and for the consolation of those friends who are more peculiarly interested in this display of the power and goodness of the Lord.

"From a very slight indication which appeared

about six months before her departure, she was able to anticipate the whole progress and fatal termination of her disorder, which she explained to a confidential servant with a composure and an acquiescence in the Divine will which were truly admirable, and which never for a moment forsook her; adding, at the same time, that not an hour of any day passed in which she did not inwardly send up that supplication of the Litany, 'In the hour of death, and in the day of judgment, good Lord, deliver me.' It was a considerable time after the wound broke out in her leg, and began to wear a threatening appearance, before she permitted a groan, or any strong expression of suffering, to escape her; and when at length they were extorted by agony, she seemed to reproach herself for them, as implying a departure from that submission and acquiescence for which she daily and earnestly prayed. At one time, when she was sitting in the parlour under very sharp suffering, one of her sisters exclaimed, Poor Sally! you are in dreadful pain. She answered, "I am indeed, but it is all well.' She still, for some time longer, continued to enjoy the society of her friends, who were often deceived by the playfulness of her conversation, and the placidity of her manner, into the belief that the sad accounts which had been given of her situation were the exaggerations of

affectionate alarm.

"While still so well as to be able in some degree to pursue her usual sedentary employments, she gave a striking proof how entirely she was withdrawing her mind from the things of this world, by refusing to have her chair placed near the bowwindow, from whence she could enjoy the sight of those plants and flowers which it had been her

constant amusement and delight to cultivate, but from which she now turned with an expression of the completest indifference.

"At length it became impossible for her any longer to support a sitting position, and just before she was assisted up stairs for the last time, she threw a look all around her, evidently taking a mental farewell of the scene to which she had been so long accustomed, with a look which, though she uttered no word, was full of solemn meaning. The extremity and constancy of her sufferings at length deprived her of the power of attending to a chain of reading which had hitherto been her chief delight and solace. To supply in some measure this loss, her sisters used to repeat from time to time a few detached texts, in which she would constantly join with the greatest fervour. During the last two years of her life, more especially, she had been so diligent and constant a reader of the Scriptures, as well as of other devotional books, that her mind had become completely imbued with them; and it was very remarkable, that in the moments of her sharpest pain, her attention was instantly excited, and her mind visibly comforted, if any bystander recited a verse from the Scriptures, or a short prayer, in which, even when unable to speak, she joined with deep fervour.

"One day, after she had lain for some time in an almost insensible state, a friend tried her with a few texts of Scripture; she suddenly burst forth, 'Can any thing be finer than that? it quite makes one's face shine! Towards the latter part of her illness, she asked one day to have a little girl in whom she was interested, brought to her. She could only deliver herself in short sentences, but her words were 'God bless thee, my dear child;